


Nervous

by Daerwyn



Series: A Collection of Drabbles by Helmaninquiel [60]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-08-23 01:46:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8309035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daerwyn/pseuds/Daerwyn
Summary: "Hold my hand dammit, we gotta make this look convincing!"2015 Christmas Drabble Collection





	

He wouldn’t touch you. Thorin Oakenshield, the King of Erebor, refused to touch you. And you were about to be presented as an engaged couple. It was ridiculous. He was ridiculous, and haughty, and so infuriating. Dori came bustling through the door, and he spoke the exact time frame you had been counting down in your head.

“Two minutes.”

Oh no. You sucked in a breath and glanced towards Thorin. He did not look unnerved at all. “How many are out there?”

“Don’t ask him that?” you insisted. “The less I know the better I’ll be-”

“Almost a thousand.”

“Oh, Mahal,” you groaned, and turned away, the heavy gown weighing your limbs down as you seated yourself on the chair. You felt faint. A thousand people? You had not even known that many people were you had grown up. And never had there been that many in a single room.

“Tell them to wait a moment longer,” Thorin directed.

“Yes, sir,” Dori said promptly, and then the doors opened, giving you a snippet of the many voices that were carrying, before they closed again. And there was silence.

“You will not need to say anything, so I do not see why you are so upset.”

“No but they will all be staring at me,” you countered. Thorin, when you looked to him after regaining your breath, did not seem to understand. “Watching every single thing I do, to see if I am adequate enough to be your queen.”

“If you were not, then I would have accepted the proposal your father gave.”

You rolled your eyes. “A farce to make sure that our village did not starve, Thorin, you know that just as well as I. They, however, do not. They think we are long separated lovers that can only now step forward because of the end of the threat on the Durin line.”

“There will never be an end to the threat on the Durin line.”

You didn’t wish to hear that. You covered your face with your hands, the ridiculous silk gloves that you were forced to wear, and took a deep breath. “It will only be fifteen minutes. I can survive fifteen minutes.”

“If you cannot then I will just have to find a new bride.” You wondered briefly if he was trying to humor you. And you glanced up, giving him a look that clearly conveyed you did not appreciate it. he cleared his throat, the trace of the grin fading. “Right, Dori will be expecting us in less than a minute.”

You rose, smoothing out your skirt and walked to where he was standing, beside the door. Up close, you could hear the crowd better. And your stomach twisted sharply. “I might be ill.”

“Please don’t be.”

“I’ve never had a thousand people staring at me.”

“At least a thousand people have glanced your way in this city alone. It will be no different.” It was time.

You straightened and stared at the door. When you reached for his arm, hearing the trumpets blaring to quiet the crowd, he jerked away from you.

 **“Hold my hand, dammit, we gotta make this look convincing!”** you hissed.

Thorin untensed, and conceded that offering his arm was probably the best in making this marriage look like it would be convincing, indeed. “Are you ready?”

“I don’t think I will be for a while.”

“Then let’s go.”

The doors opened, and you sucked in a breath as you saw more eyes than you could even count already staring at you. “Yes, let’s go.” And Thorin led you, his steps slow to help you walk in the ridiculous gown you had been dressed in, and you kept your grip on his arm tight - and he did not protest. He was bred for people watching his every move. You would need to grow into it.

Even when your fingers turned white and he led you up the stairs to the throne with which he’d sit, he did not tell you to loosen your grip. Maybe he realized it was all you could do to not faint. But when you reached the top, his fist flexed, and you realized that he was not entirely relaxed either. He was nervous, too.

And almost as soon as you noticed his fist formed again, and his knuckles were white. You glanced up quickly, to not draw attention to it. And took a deep breath. He was nervous. And somehow, that told you that everything would be alright.


End file.
